


we're hollow like the bottles that we drain

by pyralite (cardialCatharsis)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardialCatharsis/pseuds/pyralite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Historia laughed, soft and hollow, “You don’t care only about yourself, Ymir. You care about me, don’t you?”</p><p>Ymir and Historia fall in love like paper characters in a pop up book. But sometimes fairy tales don't end the way you want them to.<br/>-<br/>a secret santa gift for hequeerkhaleesi on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're hollow like the bottles that we drain

When Ymir was five years old, her mother told her the story of the Little Girl and the Forest Spirit.

The story went along the lines of a little girl deciding to take a shortcut through the forest on the way to her grandmother’s house, and on her journey she meets a tricky forest sprite that tries to steal the basket of fruit she was carrying.

The spirit pretends to befriend her, telling her that he knows an even faster route to her grandmother’s house. In actuality, it takes her to the entrance of a large cavern where a dragon presides, hoping that the beast would wake up and eat her so that it can have the sweet fruit all to itself. However, when they reach the entrance, the clever girl takes off her cloak and gives it to the forest spirit, telling it that the cloak is too heavy and will soak up moisture in the cave. When she is out of sight, the girl ducks into the bushes. The dragon then wakes up and smells her human scent on the fairy, consuming it instead.

The story was a cautionary tale for children of course, the moral being that you should never trust strangers and stranger even forest creatures. It was a dangerous times, and they lived in a village not too far from the walls. The end of the forest marked the edge of Wall Maria, and the deeper you went into the forest, the closer you got to titans.

Oddly enough, instead of actual memories of her childhood, the only thing Ymir remembered after regaining her humanity was this old children’s tale.

 

The first time Ymir saw Historia Reiss, she thought she looked just like a girl from a fairytale. In the illustrations, the heroines were always petite and blonde, with big eyes just like hers.

It was a little pathetic, the way she ran like she was skipping, the hair tied strategically low so that the most sunlight could bounce off those golden strands and catch everyone’s eye. She was making herself out to be a damsel, a princess. It was a farce, and Ymir knew it, because liars knew liars, especially those who live lies big enough to be their whole life.

Essentially, Krista Lenz was an act, Ymir could at least confirm that. But why? How could she spit in the eyes of those telling her to go die when she was playing the sweet goddess on a crumbling stage?

It was so ridiculous, to the point where she was willing to give her own life in some pointless situation just to feed her matyr complex. Ymir made sure to tell her as much when they got lost on that mountain, her carrying an unconscious Daz because Historia refused to ask for Ymir’s help in some attempt to die a heroic death. And when they got back, Ymir decided to ask her why she chose to appear kind, of all things.

“It’s a good diversion,” Historia explained reluctantly after getting over her initial surprise, “Being kind and caring…no one can suspect a girl of being a heartless monster when they think she hung up the moon and the stars.”

“What’s so bad about being a heartless monster?” Ymir’s lips curled into an amused smile, her words a clear challenge, “I’m one aren’t I? I only care about myself, I’m selfish and vapid, that’s what everyone says, right?”

Historia laughed, soft and hollow, “You don’t care only about yourself, Ymir. You care about me, don’t you?”

 

 

In many ways, Historia Reiss is a painting.

Perfect and delicate in appearance, to match the brushstrokes of the artist who slaved over it with steady hands. Framed up by gilded gold, and handled delicately onto the wall of a luxurious home.

But no matter how many layers of paint you brush on, underneath every work of art is a blank canvas.

Christa Lenz is a two-dimensional illustration from a book of fairy tales, and if you squint, you’ll notice that the paint has started to peel.

 

 

“The stars were just as bright at the farm.” Historia noted quietly, lying on the grass with her hair spread out like a fan. “It reminds me of home.”

“You could see the stars this bright back at the village I’m from too.” Ymir replied, holding back helpfully that said village was long gone by now. Probably trampled by titans ages ago.

Historia turned to look at Ymir curiously, “What was it like? Living in a village with so many people. At the farm there was only my caretakers and my mother.”

Ymir hummed thoughtfully. “It was noisy in the mornings. Just before the cock crowed people were already up and getting ready for the day. They were absolutely insane, why would you get up early on purpose?” She elicited a laugh from the blonde girl lying next to her.

They both laid in silence, watching the leaves on the tree above them rustle with the night breeze, listening to the chirping of crickets hiding behind tall blades of grass.

“I always got up early too.” Historia said so quietly, it was almost a whisper. Ymir had to crane to catch what she said. “I got up to watch my mother. She was always resting in the fields, reading her book. I wanted to see her before the caretakers came to shoo me away.”

Ymir did not reply, keeping quiet to watch Historia’s eyes grow glassy with memories, her mouth fill with the bitter taste of remembering. Without a word still, she shifted her body closer to the smaller girl’s, and started to comb through her hair gently, hearing nothing but the sound of distant animals and the steady breaths from Historia’s nose.

“Ymir?”

The freckled girl looked at Historia questioningly.

“Why are you doing this?”

Ymir chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I’m comforting you, sweetheart. Isn’t that what you do when someone is upset?”

“No, I mean….why are you so nice to me?”

She frowned, keeping her hand on the crown of Historia’s head but ceasing her combing. For a moment, Historia was worried that she hit a sore spot. Truth be told, she wasn’t even aware that Ymir _had_ sore spots.

Then Ymir grinned. “Because we’re the same. We both hide our true identities and we both lie.”

“Oh.” Historia responded, turning her body so that she faced Ymir’s. “Hey Ymir?”

The question was met with amused exasperation, “Yes, Christa?”

“Is _this_ a lie?”

Ymir smiled fondly, a rare thing that Historia recalled never seeing before.

“No, sweetheart. It isn’t.”

 

 

Now that Ymir was gone, Historia found that she wasn’t quite sure who to be.

Back then it was so simple, she was Christa Lenz, the caring, compassionate goddess of the 104th Trainee Corps. Now, she was Historia Reiss, the heir to a shadow throne, and a girl who was loved by nobody.

Nobody except Ymir.

But she was gone now, wasn’t she?

Ymir wanted her to reclaim her name, to live life as her true self. But she hated this true self, didn’t Ymir get it? This self was ugly and awful, this self looked at others emptily, without any emotion. Christa Lenz may have cared for each and every one of her friends, but Historia Reiss did not care one bit for anything.

Before, when they were still children playing at being soldiers, Ymir had told her the story of the Little Girl and the Forest Spirit. “I’m the spirit of course, and you’re the girl.” She had said teasingly, slinging and arm over her shoulder and pulling her close, “Because I want to have your body all for myself!”

Historia had smacked her playfully and told her not to say such things in public.

Now, she thought that maybe she should’ve corrected her. In truth, it was she who was the selfish forest sprite, who wanted so much and used lies to achieve it. It was she who led the innocent girl to the dragon’s mouth, condemning her to death, all for what? The sickly sweet taste of being loved.

That’s what she needed from Ymir, someone who loved her despite knowing what her true self was like. Ymir loved Historia, and everyone else loved Christa. So was it all a lie? A trick to make sure the girl kept loving and doting upon her?

The thought made Historia sick and her head spin, these days the lies she told were barely discernable from the truth. Sometimes she thought that she loved Ymir and Ymir only, but sometimes, she thought she loved no one at all.

She needed Ymir. She loved Ymir. Why were these two things exclusive? Couldn’t they be interchangeable, couldn’t they be one in the same?

Except she knew. She knew that her need and Ymir’s love were different things, as different as a stone and the sky or a bird and a worm.

Maybe, if Ymir knew this, she would forgive her.

Maybe, Ymir already knew it all along, and loved her anyway.

 

Years later, when the flames of war had died down to become slowly dissipating sparks, Historia Reiss, the girl known in fame and infamy alike for handing the crown over to Erwin Smith, took a ride on horseback out to the countryside where titans once roamed.

She left at dawn, not wanting her father’s guards to insist on coming with her, with her belongings in a satchel amidst a bundle of apples.

By the time she arrived at the open field, the sun was already beginning to set, and the figure by her lonesome under a tall, shady tree had just noticed her and put down her book.

Historia tied the horse to the fence and ran across the dew-moistened grass blades, trampling dandelions and delicate daisies. The girl under the tree grinned and held out her arms to catch her, twirling her around and laughing brightly.She felt dizzy, not just from Ymir’s spinning but from something in her heart. When they finally stopped, she looked up and met Ymir’s eyes.

“I need you, but I don’t know if I love you.” Historia admitted, self-hatred and resentment shadowing her words until the freckled girl in front of her laughed loudly.

“Maybe that’s just the way you love.” Ymir answered, smiling and running her fingers through the long blonde strands illuminated by the setting sun. “You love the things you need, and you need the things you love.”

“Oh.” She whispered, to herself more than to anyone else. Ymir pressed her lips to her forehead, light to touch but heavy with emotion. Historia closed her eyes, and waited for her lips to drift downwards.

 

When they kissed, Historia found herself smiling, the first genuine one in years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
